


Of Poisoned Knives and Fleeting Lives

by TheWholeDamnTime



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Serial Killers, TW: Blood, tw: gore, tw: psychological torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWholeDamnTime/pseuds/TheWholeDamnTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re world-renowned without being known at all.<br/>She is the Viper, the one who leaves traces of cyanide and hemlock in her trail, acids and poisons mixed with deep maroon liquid dripped from the tips of elegant daggers.<br/>He is the Doctor, the one with the little machines that drill into your organs or weapons so twisted, nobody sane would ever sketch the designs.</p><p>Serial Killer! AU where FitzSimmons are the product of a failed HYDRA experiment with the Berserker Staff. Please check tags for triggers and thank you for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My addition to the shocking lack of Serial Killer Fitzsimmons AUs. This is already a complete story, so no need to worry about long breaks or discontinuation. I should upload a new chapter every day or two. Comments and critiques are the best presents I could ever be gifted, so please do not hesitate to throw me your opinion! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

They’re world-renowned without being known at all.

She is the Viper, the one who leaves traces of cyanide and hemlock in her trail, acids and poisons mixed with deep maroon liquid dripped from the tips of elegant daggers.

He is the Doctor, the one with the little machines that drill into your organs or weapons so twisted, nobody sane would ever sketch the designs.

These names are spread world-wide, hissed in undertones in alleyways and murmured quickly, as though taboo. They fall from bloody lips before the final slice, cried by screaming, frothing victims on their final throes. They have no other identities than the ones created, the hooded, dark figures lurking in the backs of nightmares or the dark recesses of the brain where only fear resides.

Tonight, though, they were curled up on a couch in a cheap motel, exchanging light kisses and sleepy murmurings. He runs his fingers over the smooth pads of her hand (they burned off their fingerprints long ago) and trails his kisses down to her collarbone as she lets out a small hum of appreciation. Tempted to keep going down, he glances up into her eyes. His gaze sweeps over the small bags and the tired warmth of her smile. He instead brings himself up to her lips for another kiss, before whispering “it’s bedtime,” against their softness. She presses her forehead against his and murmurs a sleepy agreement before he smiles and pulls her to the nest of pillows and blankets.

The next morning, he awakes to the smell of coffee and poison. Jemma was bustling around her little Bunsen burner and adding small leaves and powders to the mix, humming soft tunes to herself. As she cooks, he pulls himself up and pours them both cups of the steaming beverage. She takes her with a murmured word of thanks, keeping her eyes on the bubbling grey-green substance before her. Smiling, he picked up the new blade he was working on. When embedded within a person, a trigger could be pulled to open up the single blade into three in a cone-formation, ripping apart whatever flesh was in the way in order to expand. Right now, the opening force wasn’t strong enough to break through some of the tougher body tissues, so nimble fingers tinkered with the mechanism to generate a stronger force. The noon hour crept up on them slowly, but as it arrived, Jemma bottled her potion and nodded once to her partner.

“So who has this kill?” she asked raising a playful eyebrow.

“Ro-sham-bo you for it,” he replied with a grin, extending a fist over his palm.

“Scissors! Aww, Fitz,” Jemma laughed as she tapped her fist on his fingers. “You need to stop choosing that one.”

“Or maybe I jus’ enjoy watching y’ work, lass,” he laughed, kissing her on the cheek before moving to grab their bags. “Got everythin’ y’ needed out o’ here?”

“Of course I did. Now _you_ can go pack the van and _I’ll_ have a little fun, yes?” He matched her grin and carried the two suitcases out the door, casually throwing a glance down the row of motel rooms. Heading back in one more time to grab his coat, he murmured, “Four minutes, love, no cameras. Have fun,” before casually throwing his coat over his shoulder and whistling his way to the driver’s seat.

Jemma checked her watch. Three minutes. Idly, she twirled the small blade in her hand, tossing it and catching it with graceful ease. She heard the knock at the door and moved behind it, pressing herself against the wall.

“Room _serveece_ , et es _teeme_ to leave, please.” The lady’s English was fractured, her i’s pronounced like long e’s. After a moment of no answer, Jemma heard a key in the lock. The door swung open, covering her, and the rattling of rickety wheels would be heard as a cart was pushed in. As soon as the housekeeper herself was in, the killer lunged and slammed the door shut behind the lady, the knife at her throat before she could make a sound.

“Make a noise and you’re dead, dear.” Simmons grinned slowly as she saw the lady tense. “Now, nice and easy, I want you to go and sit in that chair over at the desk. Keep in mind, I can accurately strike any target I want to at a fifty feet, so don’t try to pull anything.” Slowly, she moved the dagger away. “Nice and easy, dear,” she said, drawing out the vowels. Slowly, the woman walked to the chair and took a seat, trembling. Jemma, meanwhile, cut a strip of the sheets and bound the woman’s hands behind her, attached to the chair. Then, she moved it so it was in the center of the room facing the door. Leisurely, the Brit stood back and admired her handiwork, her blood boiling with anticipation.

“P-p-please-” the lady stuttered out, “d-d-don’t _keell_ me, _meess_ , p-p-p-”

“Please, calm down,” she sighed, reaching for the flask on her hip. Slowly, she uncapped it and poured some of the thick, viscous liquid onto the blade she held, coloring it purple. Slight whimpers came from the chair. Jemma grinned and ran the tip of the blade along a trembling lip. “Now, this will hurt. A lot.” In a sudden blur of movement, she sliced a line on each cheekbone, watching the lady’s mouth drop open and a strangled sound emerge. A smile played across the killer’s face as the poison began to take effect and her jaw clenched shut, sealing what noise there was in muffled chokes. As the victim’s muscles all began to tense, eyes going wide with agony and fists clenching white, Simmons made another cut, this one down the center of her face. It was a thin cut, mainly for decoration as she began to add more lines, slowly splitting open sensitive skin into an elaborate pattern. She always had been detail oriented. Filling up the face with lines and swirls, the scientist moved on to the arms, alternating deep and light slices to get the proper look she was going for. Noticing the blood loss, she looked into the housekeeper’s eyes before driving the blade into her belly and twisting it, slowly tearing her insides and a small satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her lips at the muffled screaming coming from behind the locked jaw. Tears struggled down sliced cheeks and mingled with the ruby red pouring from the woman. In a gesture of mock affection, Jemma wiped the tears and then licked the blood-coated finger with the tip of her tongue, mocking her victim’s final moments as lights faded from behind pained eyes. Standing, she pulled the blade from its sheathe in the woman’s belly and watched as the salve she applied sealed the wound. Forensics would have a field day with that one. Stopping only to rinse her blade, she walked out of the room and hopped into the passenger seat.

“Have fun?”

“Loads,” she replied as they sped out of the lot.


	2. Chapter 2

In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by giant trees and leaves burning the colors of fire, Fitz parked the van. He grabbed a map from the back and spread it on the ground, marking off the motel with a thick red pen. Meanwhile, Jemma was dialing up an old friend.

“Code?” crackled a garbled voice on the line.

“Blue as you,” she responded. “I hope your puns have improved since last time, Skye.” Immediately, the crackle of the line disappeared, as well as the voice synthesizer.

“Hey Simmons. How’s Fitzsimmons faring?” The bubbly hacker laughed. “I’ve already got the police reports on your latest. Seriously, a cleaning lady? You know the bosses notice pretty quick when those disappear, right? You didn’t give me much time before the files came out.”

“It’s been a _week_ , Skye. I needed to!” Jemma said, exasperation on her voice. “You don’t get it. You don’t have the bloodlust. You just do the… clean-up work.”

“You still owe me for initially deleting your identities. _And_ those credit cards I hacked you. _And_ deleting all of the security cam footage.” The sound of typing echoed over the encrypted line. “Maybe you guys could make me lunch next time you’re in town.”

“Skye, you _know_ how I feel about not using my solutions.”

“Fine, maybe Fitz could get it for me, then. Seriously. When are you guys in town again?” Simmons glanced at her partner, who shrugged and went back to marking the map with little notes in rough black lines.

“We’re in Vermont. You?”

“Lovely! There are loads of out-of-the-way diners there! There’s one down by Blueberry Lake that I’ve been meaning to hit. Meet you there tomorrow?” Jemma held the speaker of the phone to her chest so Skye couldn’t hear.

“She wants to get _lunch_ near Blueberry Lake tomorrow. You up for it?” she asked, watching his brow furrow.

“Ugh, fine. I guess we do owe ‘er. It’s jus’…” He shuffled for a moment, running a hand through his hair.

“The bodies, yes.” It was rather unfortunate that her partner, who had the bloodlust of a killer and the mind of a genius, couldn’t deal with the bodies for much after the fact. How he was still squeamish, she would never know.

“-an’ she-”

“I know, Leo, it’s-”

“-wretched an’ disgusting-”

“-and you’re sensitive to-”

“-that’s all.” There was a pause.

“So are you up for it?” Rolling his eyes, he shrugged. Raising the speaker again, she told her friend, “Sure, where?”

Around five hours later, they pulled up to the address. It was a small little place, around ten to fifteen tables, but bustling with locals. Grabbing seats, they ordered their food and glanced around, taking in the scene. Leo made mental tallies.

 _One entry door, one exit door through the back in the kitchen. Seventy five miles to the nearest house or shop. Parking spaces for fifteen cars outside._ A single nod to Simmons. They could do it.

The scene was actually quite nice and homey, and he allowed himself to be a little lost in it. He and Jemma talked about normal things for ages- the latest Doctor Who, Harry Potter theories, and what on earth Divergent was doing with its movies. They talked about how Skye was falling for Ward- though the fact that he was now an unaffiliated mercenary and she an illegal hacker never strayed past their lips. And it all felt strangely… normal.

When they left, sucking on sweet mints, he pulled her close and kissed her. She smiled against his lips, warm and soft, and wrapped her arms around him, looping them around his neck. He held her hand, running his thumb over soft skin as they drove into a little spot down the road where they wouldn’t be seen. And as they settled into the soft mattress in the back of the car, she felt his lips smile against her neck before sinking down into a grey, contented sleep.

The next morning, Fitz woke with Jemma sprawled across his chest. She blinked awake as he absentmindedly petted her hair, and she was reminded of a better time. The mornings on the plane, before whatever had been injected into their blood had urged them to take up the blade. Before they had been captured by Hydra agents for the strange formula made to replicate the effects of the berserker staff. Before Skye was captured and tested next to them, her screams reverberating through the walls. Before… all of this.

“Mornin’, lass.” Making a contented noise, she buried her head into his chest and let herself be enveloped in the warmth and security it provided.

“We have a lunch reservation?” she murmured. He hummed in affirmation, gently kissing her forehead. “Do you want to cook or should I?”

“If y’ get the ingredients all prepared, I’ll cook.”

“Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

“We have to stop them.” The flat, hard tone covered every emotion rushing through Melinda May’s head. She swallowed and continued, “They’ve killed off hundreds of people already.” Glancing once at her partner’s face, she sighed. “Listen, I know they’re our team, but we’re not getting them back, Phil. They’ve changed.”

“No,” sighed Coulson. “They’ve been altered. Changed against their will. This isn’t their fault. It’s not them.”

“Do you really think that the old Simmons wouldn’t beg for you to take her head off right here and now? That Fitz wouldn’t be sobbing over what he’d done? Can you honestly tell me that Skye wouldn’t cut herself to pieces, literally and figuratively, at everything that’s happened since then?” She took a breath and calmed herself. “Coulson, they’d want this. They wouldn’t want any of your second chances. Even if we brought them back, they’d-” Her voice caught and she took a moment to steady herself. “-they’d _want_ to be dead. We’d be doing them no favors.

“Listen, this is the first call in three years Skye slipped up. We’re not going to get another chance.”

There was a moment of quiet. “I still couldn’t bring myself to kill them. If it’s like you suggest. And to be frank, I don’t think you could either.” There was more silence, and it started to weigh on them, a sinking feeling appearing in their chests as it lengthened.

“We could turn them against each other. Have them kill each other off,” offered the specialist. “No one at S.H.I.E.L.D. gets hurt. No more casualties. No blood on our… on our hands.” The senior agent shook his head.

“They’re a team.” _They’re our team_ , he thought. “They’d kill themselves before they’d do that.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we’re looking for.”


	4. Chapter 4

Four hours later, Fitzsimmons stared down the small establishment. Side by side, fingertips brushing, they radiated a mixture of confident certainty and excitement. The plan was formulated in a matter of seconds, the only communication a quick, synchronized glance.

Simmons walked into the back door of the restaurant as though she owned the place, black pants and white shirt giving her the appearance of a waitress. Fast and efficient, she swiped up a tray- “For table four!” cried the cook as she breezed out- and into the dining scene. It only took a couple of smiles and glances to make herself just another friendly face in the crowd. And as she headed back with an empty tray and two orders tossed to the cook, she slipped the door keys into her pocket. _Foolish_ , she thought, reaching to gather up the trash bags, _they left their spares in plain sight._

Fitz was waiting by the back, concealed by the foliage. Eyes attuned to details, anything from slight angles to hidden wires, watched as his partner tucked her stolen goods beneath a rock and tossed the bags into the dumpster. Without even a glance in his direction, she slid back in the door and to her undercover role.

As Leo slipped from the underbrush, he watched Skye waltz through the front doors. Slipping the key into the palm of his hand, he reached up to quickly lock the back door, then rushed to the front to hold it open for a couple entering right afterwards. As he held it in place, his fingers were nimbly locking it before slipping inside and hearing it _click_ behind him. The concealed weapons bumped into his chest a touch as he joined Skye, giving her a quick kiss on each cheek. Fitz winked at their server as she made sure to drip the antidote into their waters, bustling out again with freshly emptied vials clinking in her pockets.

The scrap of paper she left under the edge of the glass read _five minutes_.

Leo started his watch.

Four minutes and fifty-three seconds later, the first man doubled over, choking and frothing at the mouth. His face pressed into the red of his pasta, he sporadically twitched and added a light froth to the top of the noodles. The engineer let a tiny smile slip on his face and covertly passed the hacker the localized EMP from his pocket.

“Would you like the honor?”

“You sure know how to seduce a fake girlfriend,” she giggled, accepting the tiny device with a smile. “It’d be my pleasure.” Within a half-second, every electronic device in the building fizzed and sputtered out. Lights died. Cellphones sparked. Cries flew through the air. Chaos ensued as people hit the locked doors and flew about in a panic. More people began to keel over, some spitting blood or pus, others twitching to death as their nervous systems betrayed them.

Skye slowly sipped her tea as the chaos hit a high point. Chairs were tossed about, people trampled underfoot, and the screaming at a painful pitch.

“I think that’s your cue, Romeo.” Sighing, he stood up.

“Alrigh’, everybody, l-” the chaos continued, oblivious to his shouted words. The edges of Skye’s lips twitched up as Fitz rolled his eyes, a sigh slipping from his lips with deep exasperation painted over his features.

Three bullets hit the ceiling and everybody froze. Jemma stood in the entryway to the kitchen, one hole over her head, and Leo stood with two over his. The smile that slid over the biochemist’s face at the bodies on the floor made even the hacker’s gut twist.

“Alrigh’, everybody, now if y’ don’ mind sittin’ back down where y’ were, we have some business t’ attend to.” Nobody moved. “ _Now_ would be nice.” There was a scurry of movement as the customers followed his orders.

“Staff at the unattended tables, if you don’t mind,” cut in Simmons’s soft English lilt. Skye smiled and vacated their table fully, making a wide, welcoming gesture to the staff with mockery in her eyes. “Skye, your pick and then we get the rest.”

The hacker took slow, deliberate steps, watching the customers tremble as she passed them. None of them made eye contact, and she enjoyed toying with them, occasionally putting her face right up in theirs to watch their reaction. Eyes shifted away, squinted shut, tensed with the certainty that they would die. And then she’d widen her grin and move on, leaving them to pant their relief as they let go of the breath they’d trapped. Finally, she stopped at a man who looked about his early thirties. His wife- _much too young for him_ , she thought- was desperately clinging to his arm as she looked him over.

“This one, Viper.” The tension sparked in the room as the name rippled through the air. She could almost feel the cogs turning, the thoughts that blew through their minds. _If that one’s the Viper, then- then they are the Doctor and the Puppeteer_. _The bloodied three_. Tension grew, so thick it seemed to choke some victims. The wife’s grip tightened.

“Very well. Doctor, would you mind removing this lady from his arm? She seems rather… attached.”

“Gladly.” He lowered the gun and released the magazine into his hand, replacing it with a _click_.

A gunshot to her shoulder.

It didn’t bleed. The strange metal cylinder was buried halfway in the victim’s arm, her mouth half-open in a scream. Slowly, the back of the device opened to reveal blades and mechanics inside as insect-esque legs slid out of the sides.

The pitch increased as it began to tear its way inside of her.

The bloody flesh was ground up and sent out of the back end of the bot, plugging up the hole as it ventured inside. Soon, the lady had released her husband and was clawing at her own flesh, her screams echoed by others witnessing the horror. Red lines appeared on her flesh as she gouged herself with her fingernails, each scratch getting closer and closer to her chest until she began to make choking noises. The claw marks stopped right over her heart and she slumped back, limp. Silence filled the air as a trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her lips. Fitz waited a moment and waited for the grinding, mechanical noises to stop. Then he reached over, popped opened her jaw, and caught the smooth metal cylinder as it slid out, simply dropping it into his pocket as the body slid to the floor.

“All yours, m’ dear.”

Smiling, Jemma pocketed the gun and pulled out a large knife from under her apron. “If you won’t mind walking to the kitchen and waiting for a moment.” With that, she turned to Skye and began to speak in hushed tones. As she did, the man stood and walked to the door, then spun around with a kitchen knife in hand. With that, he cried out and tried to charge the biochemist.

 _Thunk_. The large blade sheathed itself in his chest and he wobbled slightly, looking down. “Shame. Now I have to drag you there. _So_ much more work,” she announced casually, walking around him and pushing the man to his knees. In one smooth motion, she pulled a fresh blade out and swung it in a clean line at the back of his neck, burying it halfway in. Heaving it out again, she repeated the blow, this time sending the head toppling into the center of the room. The sickening expression and glazed eyes blankly stared at the guests as it perched itself upright again, eyes clouding as the red puddle spread. Whistling, Simmons began to drag the body by the ankle into the kitchen, disappearing after a few moments and leaving a trail of red in her wake.

Leo grinned and turned back to the horrified guests. “So, who’s next?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Fitz, can I use Twisty? _Please?_ ” Skye practically begged. He sighed and tossed the small box to her.

“Jus’ be careful when you turn him on.” Skye grinned and skipped over to where a small group was sitting.

“Okay, so I want _you_ two,” she said pointing to the quite obvious couple, “to put your heads together. Like, side by side. Holding this cube in between.” There was a pause.

“W-w-why should we l-l-listen t-t-to you?” one of the girls managed to stutter out. Skye smiled.

“Ooh, brave one. Glad you asked.” In a quick flash, she had a knife pressed to another member of the group’s neck. “You deny, he gets it.”

“Y-y-you’re g-g-going t-t-to kill u-u-us all anyways, w-w-what’s the d-d-difference?” The hacker’s grin became feral, and the blade moved in a silver flash. A scream echoed through the air.

A finger thudded to the table.

“See, the Viper over there made this handy little solution that seals up your wounds almost immediately,” she hissed at her, watching as the wound knit itself shut. “Oh, but you still feel it. And he had nine more fingers and ten more toes. Not to mention almost _every joint in his limbs_.” Venom dripped from every word, danger behind every syllable. Fear radiating in watery eyes, the couple cautiously scooted closer to each other and Skye reached out the cube. It rested between their heads as they leaned closer, holding it.

“Alright, Twisty,” Skye sang in a melodic, creepy voice, “ _twist_.”

The bot instantly shot out little legs from each corner that pushed out the heads about an inch in either direction and rooted itself there, digging each appendage into the flesh. Slight whimpers. A tiny drop squeezed from beneath the skin and trickled downwards, tracing a line along a cheekbone. Then, the others watched as thick corkscrews, at least a centimeter thick and twisted into an inch-wide spiral, began to slowly emerge from either side. The two were left trembling in anticipation as they watched their friends’ faces twist in horror, only realizing what was happening as the tips of the screws began to dig into their flesh.

Screams erupted and Skye only laughed before turning to Fitz to see if he had another.

As she made the final four of the group press their foreheads to four sides of the next one, Fitz was making his own fun.

“Here,” he said, proffering the gun to a man. The guy stared at him blankly, the words _is this a trick?_ practically flashing over his eyes. “If you try and shoot me, the gun won’t fire. I have trackers on all of my companions, as well. If you try to pull the trigger in any of our directions, it’ll electrocute you. Now take it.” A slow shake of the head was the only response. “Do it, or I’ll have the Puppeteer do that to you,” the engineer said, jerking his head towards where the four were slowly going limp, screws digging deeper into their brains. Slowly, fingers wrapped around the handle.

“Now I wan’ you t’ shoot your date.” The man’s head whipped around. “Yeah, shoot ‘er. Non-lethally, ‘course. Arm works. Shoulder’s not bad either. Kneecap? Th’ best. But your choice. Jus’ non-lethal.” Bored, he leaned back on the edge of a booth and flicked out a knife. Methodically, the blade began to pick at his fingernails.

“What’re you waiting for?” The man’s hand was quivering, shaking, the barrel still facing towards the floor. “Do I need to threaten you further, or are you smarter than that?” Slowly, the barrel rose.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

A sharp explosion ripped through the air, only followed by the sharp scream. Both were screaming, sobbing, one grabbing at the red splatter on her shoulder, the other apologizing profusely and repeatedly. The weapon fell from shaking hands and hit the floor with a clatter.

“Pick it up again,” Fitz said calmly. The man ignored him, making his way around the table to hold his partner, apologies still spinning off his tongue. “Don’ make me give y’ a knife next.” The man turned half-around, staring at the engineer with fear in his eyes. It only took one expression for him to understand- Leo meant business. The gun was picked up again with shaking fingers. “Right, the foot next.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Another deafening gunshot echoed through the room, followed by more screams and sobs. The victim was crumpling to the ground, horrible, pained sobs shaking her whole body.

“I think y’ can put ‘er out of ‘er misery now,” said Fitz casually. The muzzle of the gun began to rise. “Stop.” It halted mid-way up. “Use this.” Quick fingers plucked a steak knife from the table and spun it so the handle was extended, waiting for the shaking hand to grasp it. Finally, after much hesitation and half-stuttered words that caught in the back of the throat, it did.

“Please forgive me.”

The figure futilely tried to scoot away, weakly pushing away the hand reaching for her. Slowly, his touch grew more forceful and her desperation peaked as she screamed and flailed, trying to keep the flashing blade away from her vitals. His frustration at her followed the curve and soon they were grappling, the metal ripping at any flesh it could find. She screamed as the blade slit at her arm, as it opened up a slice in her cheek, on her side. Blood began to trickle, slid from the mars in the flesh. Blows were thrown at her date, all glancing off, merely minor deterrents. Finally, weakened by blood loss, her movements began to falter. A flash of silver stuck home, finding residence inside her belly. With a feral roar, it was drawn out and plunged back in. A moment passed, and then again. And again. Panting, the man settled back and watched the light wash from her eyes. The puddle of blood began to expand, dampening the knees of his pants and adding to the already numerous splatters and smears of the red that dappled over his body like war paint. The only sound in the area was heavy breathing. Then, the tapping of approaching shoes.

“What a mess,” Fitz casually commented. (Unbeknownst to the crowd, he was barely keeping himself from puking.) “Did y’ know ‘er well?” No reply. “What date was that? First? Second? Tenth?” The man began to flinch at each word, as if they were the knife that was ever so slowly slipping from his grasp.

“Either way, she was still human. Rather beautiful ’s well. And look what you’ve done t’ tha’ pretty little face,” he remarked, waving a loose limb at the gashes and cuts that crisscrossed her features. “Just look at th’ gusto y’ put into this work. My, you’re quite th’ savage.” A pause, as Leo carefully crafted his words. “No, no, not a savage.

“You’re a monster.”

 _Clink._ The blade hit the ground with a splash of red. The breathing continued, only now tinged by ragged, wet pain as tears began to mix with the war paint.

Bloody hands reached for the table, wrapping around the grip of the firearm. Metal clattered between teeth as he placed it.

The explosion felt like it blew the world apart.

And Leo smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma sighed as she sharpened the kitchen knives. Honestly, what kind of chefs were these? Their blades were duller than their IQs must have been. As she ran the blade over the stone, she glanced at the body draining over the sink. It had taken forever to hoist him up there by an ankle (thank goodness for leverage and pulleys), and by now the stream had become more of a trickle, telling her it was almost time to start preparation. As she whipped out some general vegetables and ingredients, her boyfriend walked into the room, tracking in bloody prints on white tile.

“How’s it going?” As he threw his gaze to the body and back with a sigh, he continued, “Shouldn’t y’ be working on tha’ bit? This one here’s mine.” Lips curled up at the edges as he walked up behind her and slipped the knife from her grasp, taking the opportunity to wrap himself around her. Twisting in his arms, she lightly tapped a kiss onto his lips and slid over to where her work awaited.

As they worked in a quiet that was only occasionally broken with screams, cries, and pleading, Leo couldn’t help but flash back. This was how they had worked in the lab. Each on their own half, each on their own projects, but with a mutual understanding and movements that were perfectly in sync. It hurt, but at the same time it felt like everything was right again.

 When he was tapped on the shoulder and presented with a trey of vague-looking meat, he just accepted it and began more preparations, still lost in his own mind.

And perhaps purposely keeping himself there.

A half-hour later, Simmons kissed him on the cheek and practically skipped from the room, cooler in hand and knives strapped to her thigh once more. And even though he was breading bloody flesh, splashing breadcrumbs with red, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

* * *

 

As the oven heated, Leo wandered to the doorway. Skye was busy with one of the six remaining tables, slowly sliding a blade into the center of the man’s shoulder before throwing the switch. The blade expanded, tearing at the muscle and leaving a gaping hole the size of a softball as she withdrew it. Meanwhile, Jemma was practicing her carving on a near-dead victim.

 She was on her stomach at an empty table, shirt slit down the back and blood lightly tricking from ruby lips. He watched as Jemma walked in a slow, methodical circle, examining the smooth skin as a painter does her canvas.

Then, slowly, she lowered the blade and made a small cut. Then another, the shimmery steel painted with drops of red. Careful hands moved to hold the skin, to keep the slices where she wanted them, her elaboriate carving slowly taking shape as she removed some bits of flesh and shaped others, tossing the scraps to the side. Her brow furrowed and she made a few final, decisive cuts before stepping back and admiring her masterpiece.

Leo stepped over, just over her right shoulder, staring down at the three-dimensional rose carved into the victim’s back. Each petal shifted at frantic, dying breaths and he smiled. Her performance pieces were always the best while still moving. Each puff of air moved the flower a bit less, and less, and soon, it was still. Slowly, he pressed a kiss to Jemma’s hair.

“Beautiful. Jus’ like you,” he sighed.

“Hello, love,” she whispered in return. “Do you have to get back, or do you want to help me with the next round?”

“I can take a moment,” he responded with a grin that swung between loving and feral with every instant that passed. Grinning back, she sashayed over to a table and pulled a blindfold form her back pocket.

“Which one, dear? Who do you want to _crack_?” Fitz’s eyes hardened as he glared down the table.

“That one,” he hissed under his breath, pointing at a woman. She was already crying a touch, tears wetting rosy cheeks, and immediately started pleading and begging when she was singled out. “Blindfold?” Jemma passed it to him with light fingers, thin smile on her lips. Slowly, he knotted it over her eyes. Damp spots sprung from the cloth almost immediately.

Slowly, Jemma pulled a blade from her belt.

And drove it into a man’s hand.

The screams assaulted their ears, the spots on the fabric growing, the whimpers from the blindfolded girl louder.  Jemma smiled and slowly slid the knife under a fingernail, digging the edge of the blade into sensitive flesh.

The volume increased and small pleas were added to the blindfolded girl’s whimpers.

“Listen to it,” Jemma hissed, starting on the next finger. “Listen to him scream. Isn’t it lovely? Who is he to you? Father? Brother? Friend? Boyfriend? Listen to that. He’s in such pain. Shouldn’t it be you instead? Or are you selfish, are you just pleased it’s not a blade to your pretty little skin?” Another scream erupted and a fresh wave of sobs engulfed the girl. “Should I slice his throat? How about in the heart? Or should I just sever his arteries, leave him to bleed out?”

“Why don’t you choose?” Leo asked the victim, voice like silk.

“Ooh, why don’t you, dear?” echoed Simmons.

“Choose, or we’ll just torture him more.”

“Come on, now.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“Isn’t a quick death better than a slow one?” Just to prove the point, the blade dug deeper, eliciting a scream.

“H-h-h-heart,” choked the victim through tears. “Q-q-q-quickly. P-p-please,” she begged. Simmons smiled, feral grin on her lips.

“Of course.”

And the blade struck home.

“Now for the next.” If at all possible, the victim’s face fell more. “Oh, yes. All of them. And you get to decide how we kill them. Heart’s already taken. What’s next?” The tip of the blade flicked and a chunk of earlobe flew across the table. The cry made its way past strangled lips as silver flashed under nails.

“Throat, choking on his own blood? Or the veins, dear? Make your choice…” It dug into soft flesh, a scream elicited behind pearly whites.

“Better choose quickly,” murmured Fitz.

“Th-throat. P-p-p-lease hurry…” There was a slashing of silver and a flash of red, and now gurgling screams were struggling through a flooding sea of red. As the last sounds of pain choked out, a tear trickled from the black fabric.

“One more. One option. But… we keep going until you tell us what you want us to do to him,” murmured Jemma. The screams echoed through the restaurant, crying shudders shaking the victim’s shoulders.

“Ar-arteries…”

“Oh, no,” sighed Jemma. A scream followed her words, reverberating through their bones. “I want you to _describe_ it.”

“W-w-what?”

“Describe it. I want a description of the color, the screams, so on and so forth.” There was a momentary pause.

Simmons cut off her quiet fear by prying another scream from behind lips.

“C-c-cut his- his arteries. The-the red b-b-b-blood will- it will g-g-gush a-a-and-” her voice broke off from a choking cry. Jemma and Leo exchanged a glance.

“Eh, that works.” Two cuts to the wrists, and the screaming reached an ear-splitting level, long, drawn-out wails of agony that slowly, slowly diminished into choked sobs, cutting off as the blood pooled.

Slowly, Simmons unwound the black cloth, revealing the horror scene before the victim.

“How do you feel? You decided their fates. You _relished_ their screams.” She smiled slightly setting something before the trembling girl. “I’m going to give you a blade, dear. But think, do you deserve to live any more than they do?” There was a pause as she considered the knife on the table before her.

And then she raised the knife above her breastbone, Romeo and Juliet style.

The blade struck home, and the world went still.


	7. Chapter 7

Until, that is, the timer went off and Leo rushed towards the kitchen, saying goodbye with a glance at his partner, her answer a light wink. Fitz grinned and let the kitchen door swing shut behind him, leaving Simmons to look back at Skye. “Need any help there?” she quipped as phalanges hit the floor.

“Take the kids out. There’s only a few of them, but we can keep them in the office with some food ‘til the cops show up with our ‘anonymous tip’,” Skye said, slicing off another finger. Simmons hummed her agreement and headed for the nearest one, a mother and her son resting in a booth area. As she approached, the woman moved to stand, her indignant expression playing on her every feature.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch this boy, you-”

Jemma hardly stopped walking as she slammed a knife deep into the woman’s gut. Smiling thinly, she pushed her back onto the seat and watched her shocked expression. As Simmons twisted the blade a bit and pulled it from the dying woman, she caught the child staring. An intense gaze peered from behind a black eye (result of a soccer game, or so she had been told as a waitress). The gaze was hard, jaw just barely clenched as he stared her down. Confident, the biochemist raised her chin a bit. A slight choking noise emerged from the dying mother, along with a few splatters of blood, but still she stared down the little boy in the booth. She had been there before, facing off defiant victims or their families. There was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Thank you,” came the soft murmur, eyes glancing down and hand moving to brush the purpled skin.

Except maybe that.

Face falling, she instantly lost the defensive pose, she grabbed the body by the back of the neck and pulled her from the booth. Not even caring as it flopped limply to the floor with hardly a twitch, she slid next to the kid, who instantly flinched back.

“It’s okay. I’d- we’d never do anything to kids. Ever,” the scientist promised. She was still eyes warily, and she guessed she couldn’t really blame him. “It’s a long story, but we don’t really, well, _want_ to do this. But that’s beside the point.” The hard look stayed, but she felt curiosity as the gaze softened ever so slightly. “What’s your name?”

“Emir.” He kept all but the slightest quiver out of his voice, and she felt a strange rush of pride for this little boy.

“Emir, I can’t tell you my real name. But you can call me… Call me Melinda,” she whispered softly. “Did she- did she do that to you?” A pause, and then the smallest of nods answered her. “Oh, gods. I’m so sorry. No child-” she cut herself off with a light hand covering her mouth. “Does it happen, well, often?” Her voice was even softer, and so was the nod that answered it. “Oh my goodness.” Quickly, she fumbled and grabbed for a vial under her apron. Quietly, she opened it and dabbed a bit of white cream onto her finger.

“Here.” There was a stillness as she extended her hand. “It’s a healing agent. Your bruise should be gone in a few minutes.” He scooted back a bit. She tilted her head a touch before realization hit her. “Oh, it’s not poison. I promise. Here, I’ll prove it.” Graceful and cautious as ever, she took a clean knife and gently made a nick in her leg. His eyes widened slowly as she wiped the blade on the apron and slid it back into its sheathe. Lightly, she rubbed in the cream and he watched, wide eyed and wondering, as the skin began to knit itself together again.

Carefully, he held out a trembling hand. A little of the cream was spread on his finger and she watched as he slowly applied it around his eye. The capillaries started to heal and the purple grew less pronounced, but it’d still be a bit before the blood would drain. “Does that feel better?” He nodded, more sure of himself this time. “Listen, dear, I’m going to write you a note. I want you to keep it with you at all times, you hear? Show it to the police when they show up. They’ll know what to do, I promise.”

She left him with a napkin bleeding black ink that read, _Agents Coulson and May- please take special care of Emir for me. His past is too close to Grant’s. –JS_


	8. Chapter 8

Simmons closed the door to the main office behind her, peeking through the window to see the shocked, slightly numb children sitting around together. A few covered containers of pasta sat on the desk as well, in case they got peckish before the police showed up. Then she walked out of the back and to the dying mother.

“Oh, I’m not done with you,” she growled through her teeth. Pulling more of the salve out, she smeared it over and inside the gut wound. The victim gasped and clutched at it, staring at the biochemist in terror. “Get up.” She didn’t. “Get up!” she snapped. With a scramble of limbs, the woman did as she was told. Jemma turned her back for one moment, hearing the exhalation of momentary relief behind her. Then, in a sudden movement, she spun around and slammed a fist into the mother, feeling the soft cartilage give way. Satisfaction shot through her like a drug and as the woman took a staggering step back, she added a second blow to the cheek.

“You repulsive-” A blow somewhere between a slap and a scratch struck the face, smearing the blood trickling from her nose, “-vile-” another blow, this one to the other cheek, “-filthy-” three red gashes opened in a diagonal slash down her features as she fell to her knees, “-ugh!” she screamed, not even finding a proper word to kick her in the gut with. Panting, Simmons stared down at the sobbing woman. “How… _dare_ you?” she growled slowly. In a half-second, a blade was pulled from its sheathe, dripping a milky white liquid. A hand wrapped a deathly tight grip around a flailing wrist and silver flashed through the air.

A finger fell to the floor, the clear gems of matrimony spattered with red.

Jemma’s teeth were clenched in a growl as she watched the stump heal over, soft, pink skin covering the fresh red. Raising her knife again, another finger hit the ground, splashing in the tiny puddle oozing from the first. As the next stump knit its skin up, she created a new one. Then another. The sobbing, screaming noise gained volume. Pleas sputtered sporadically through tears as the biochemist slowly sliced off the thumb, then ran the blade around the stump, carving it into a smooth sphere.

Then she grabbed the next one.

She worked her way through the flesh and bone, dropping delicately manicured nails into the ever-growing puddle. The screams shook the air, begging for mercy, trying to provide reasoning behind her actions, swearing that she didn’t deserve this, it was an accident, that it wasn’t her fault. One by one, each phalange disappeared. Simmons would pause after each one, giving it just enough time for the initial shock to go away and the pain to set in before moving on to the next. Soon enough, she was smoothing out the second palm, slicing away another strip of flesh.

“Do you think I’m done?” The woman cowered. “Do you want me to be done?” A pause, and then a tiny nod.

“I’m sure your son would have told you that as well.” Quickly, she moved to pull the woman’s sandals off.

“This little piggy went to the market,” she teased in a sing-song voice, cutting the big toe. The screams resumed. “This little piggy stayed home.” _Slice_. “This little piggy had roast beef.” A sobbing, ragged scream. “This little piggy had none.” Cries for mercy as metal glinted through the air. “And this little piggy cried ‘wee, wee, wee’ all the way home.” She drew out the last one, carving away at the side of the foot as well.

And then she moved onto the next.

Skye watched as Jemma took her time, taking off each toe with a vicious glare in her eyes. As she finished up those with a quick smoothing, she watched as the biochemist dipped the blade into the solution once more. And now she was moving on to take off each hand at the wrist, slowly sawing through bone and blood. They hit the ground with a solid _thud_ , and Simmons moved to go after the ankles.

Skye cringed as a main artery severed and a quick gush of blood escaped prior to healing. From the ankles, the fury-fueled woman crushed the kneecaps, each blow met with an agonized scream. The lower legs disappeared. And then the lower arms. Soon, the woman was waving four stumps, sobs wracking her body.

Jemma was in a rage- Skye could practically _feel_ the way her friend was seeing red. Now Jemma heaved the torso halfway up a blank wall, grinding the face into the roughness as she held her there, and pushed the blade through the gut of the body, just to the right of the spine. Healing the wound, it held her to the wall like a piercing. Stabbing a fresh blade through the other side, she moved to pin each stump with a steak knife. Forks affixed the small bits, while butter knifes held the pieces of hacked off body part back into place. Then, taking a delicately curved blade, she sliced off the back of the woman’s shirt and began to carve.

When she was done, the mother lay crucified against the wall, groaning slightly as death began to approach her. Each bit of her was an inch removed from where it should have been and the words _this is what happens to child abusers_ were neatly cut into the body, thin trails of red trickling between the letters.

It was only after a final knife to the center of the head that Simmons let out a deep breath, turned, and moved on.


	9. Chapter 9

In that moment, Fitz came out of the kitchen with a steaming plate in hand, arm stretched so it was as far away from him as possible. “Skye, the- er- food’s done.” He put it down at the recently vacated table and stepped away from it, scooting more and more distance between himself and the monstrous concoction cradled by white porcelain. An ecstatic squeak slipped from between pink-glossed lips and the hacker scurried to settle into the booth. Light fingers daintily lifted cutlery and broke the crust of the breaded cuts of meat.

“Mmm, looks delicious,” she purred.

As she settled to her meal, Fitzsimmons turned to each other. “One group left?”

“Yep.” A single glance between them communicated all they would ever need to know. After all, they were Fitzsimmons.

Jemma whipped six or seven black handkerchiefs from her apron, fluidly tossing three to her partner and knotting the first around a quivering victim’s eyes. As she and Leo worked with neat, clean efficiency, depositing a myriad of weapons on the table.

“Alright, now, here’s the plan,” stated the biochemist in a light, brisk tone.

“One of your number will walk out of here alive,” promised her partner.

“-and the rest will die. There’s a variety of weapons-”

“-on the table in front of you. I believe-”

“-you know what to do. No touching your blindfolds, dears.”

“And…” said the engineer slowly, savoring the moment, “… go!” There was a moment of silence as the victims thought over what had just been said to them. A shaking, trembling moment passed. And then-

“ _I don’t want to die!_ ” Clattering as a blade was swept off the table and waved around in frantic, panicked motions.

And struck its mark with a wet-sounding _thunk_.

All of a sudden, everyone as moving, screaming, dampening the blindfolds with blood, sweat, and tears. Explosions filled the air, bullets whizzing around the scene like confetti in the air, then a harsh buzzing as the muzzle pointed a little too close to Skye, who was watching the dinner entertainment with a strange light in her eyes.

The numbers slowly diminished, the screams quieted to whimpers until there were two left. One held a gun in trembling fingers. The other gripped the leather grip of a blade like a lifeline.

“One more death, dears,” sang Jemma.

The blade-wielder whimpered, and a head tilted to the sound.

And the gunshot went off.

Panting, the girl dropped the cool metal, the only sounds the clattering on the floor and the sound of a body falling limp.

“Well done,” Leo said, voice layered with something Skye couldn’t name. She watched as Jemma pulled the blindfold from her eyes and flashed her a warm smile- the same as she had given Skye that first official day on the Bus.

“You’re free to go,” the biochemist added, gesturing to the now-propped-open door. Wide eyes flashed between the two killers, looking for the insincerity. They found none.

And so the victim turned and fled, stumbling slightly as the ground beneath changed to a courser texture, the blacktop rising rough beneath weak feet.

Leaving her open back exposed to the three, a bobbing, perfect target.

It only took a single flash of movement.

 _Thunk_.

And Simmons gave a small bow, completing their act.

The hacker stood and applauded, swallowing the last bit of meat, a trickle of red at the corner of ruby lips.

“Well, that was lovely, dears,” Skye practically purred, dabbing at the corners of her lips with the crisp white napkin. “God, Fitz, who knew you could cook?” Standing, she brushed a light kiss on either of their cheeks. “And now I’m off to go watch for when this file springs up, probably down in Granville State Park or the like. I’d suggest you two camp out a day and then head south. There was a lovely 50’s diner just outside of Danbury I’ve been meaning to try…” With that, she swept out the front doors, only throwing back a grin and a casual, “ _Laters_ ,” before hopping into her own van and speeding down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, maybe I should clarify some things on this chapter :P Sorry, the writing does get a bit messy there, and there have been some questions. Skye is now eating people because she was affected by a similar HYDRA experiment, but it altered her differently, so she has a craving for human flesh instead of killing. Jemma threw a knife into the last victim's back. I tried to show this by repeating the onomatopoeia from when earlier in the chapter, someone was killed with a knife. (Okay, yeah, it was a pretty long shot, sorry for the confusion.) Any other questions, feel free to PM me or message me on tumblr :)


	10. Chapter 10

Phil Coulson and Melinda May surveyed the scene before them, putrid with freshly dead bodies and the smell of cooked meat.

The kids were exactly where the call told them they would be, waiting in the office with enough packaged pasta to outlast an apocalypse. _Simmons_. One was tinkering with a rubix cube, another a Gameboy. _Fitz. Skye._ Each name stabbed at the director’s gut, and he stepped into the office, showing his badge. Immediately, the youngest ran to him, crying, and he gently passed him to another agent who carried him out the back way, letting the child cry on his shoulder and holding him in strong, secure arms. Then came the middle child, tears in his eyes. Melinda took that one gently by the hand and followed the first two, protective nature practically radiating from her. Finally, the last and oldest child there approached Coulson.

“She told me to give you this,” he whispered softly. Phil could see the remnants of a bruise around his face and cringed inwardly. _What had happened to FitzSimmons to make them injure someone so innocent?_ Yes, they were murderers, but at every site, they would find every child whole and safe. Glancing his eyes down at black-blooded paper, a mixture of relief and disgust flooded him, making him stagger slightly.

“Hey there, Emir,” he said softly to the boy. “Are you okay?” He received a slight nod. “Did you talk to her?” He nodded again.

“Melinda was nice,” he whispered softly, for Coulson’s ears only. Phil felt tears pricking at his eyes. _Of course she’d choose that name_. “She was real nice. And gentle. I don’t understand. Aren’t they supposed to be evil? They’re supposed to be- they’re _supposed_ to be evil.” His voice cracked and AC felt close to crying himself. Slowly, he got down on a knee.

“Sim- She- Melinda was once one of my best agents. She’s being forced to do this. I promise you, she’s a good person. Bad people are making her do bad things,” the agent explained. He watched as the child nodded slowly.

“Are you going to save her from the bad people?” His eyes were pleading, desperate. _Maybe she was the first person to ever do something like this for him. Speak to him. Sympathize with him. Help him. Oh, Simmons._

“I promise I’ll try,” Coulson swore, standing and offering a hand. Together, they walked out, tears in their eyes and hands clasped, united by a murderer.

* * *

 

As a red sun set over a scene splashed with the color, May walked to her partner. They stood together in front of the establishment and watched it crawl with agents, arms crossed and feet planted.

“We might not be able to prove it, but you know exactly who that tip was from, Phil.” He nodded the affirmative.

“They made their call. Now we have to make ours,” he sighed. May’s eyes traveled to where his hand had tightened around the handle of his sidearm. Her next words chilled him to the bone.

“But can you carry it out?”

He had no answer. The only reply he could formulate was a long sigh as he stared out into the forest.


	11. Chapter 11

Ten hours later, trees blocking out the sky above her, Skye gaped. Frozen in place, she listened to every word of the transmission, then played the recording back three times to make sure she was right. Every word held the same. She checked the frequency. S.H.I.E.L.D.-only, covered under several lines of encryption and a voice synthesizer. Everything about it screamed _authentic_.

It only took her a half-second to dial them.

“Hello?” At the sound of the British scientist, Skye rushed straight to the point, words half-blended together and slurred slightly with urgency.

“I found the cure, Simmons, but you-”

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

“Jesus, Jems, what-”

“Skye said she found the cure to the bloodlust! Fitz, we can go back to S.H.I.E.L.D., we can-”

“Simmons, wait-”

“D’ya think Coulson’ll let us back after-”

“-and my equipment, and my microscope, and-”

“-and I c’n get back to m’ lab-”

“- _our_ lab, Fitz, and-”

“Fitzsimmons, _so help me or I will **eat you both!**_ ” A pause in the jabber. Sighing on the other side, the hacker raised and hand to her forehead. “Guys, it’s not a good cure. Or a pleasant one.” More quiet. _Get to the point_ , the silence screamed at her.

“You can only be cured if you drink the lifeblood of someone affected by the same serum. And the only two...” her voice trailed off, the lingering notes of the word cut by a choking noise. The silence grew heavy. “Guys?” Her voice was rough, tinged by the edges of tears.

_*Click* Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._

“Fuck,” she snapped at the dial tone.


	12. Chapter 12

FitzSimmons stared at the ground between them. The quiet was cut only by a fuzzy question from across the phone line.

“Guys?”

Fitz hit a button and the phone went dead. They sat in silence for an indeterminate length of time, something that felt somewhere between forever and eternity.

And then everything happened at once.

Jemma grabbed at her thigh, unsheathing a knife and popping open a bottle, holding both to her throat as Leo lunged and tried to stop her. Fingers grasped, hands fumbled until his hands pulling, tugging on her wrists were the only things keeping the knife from scraping at smooth skin, wet-washed in tears.

“Please, Fitz,” she blubbered, “just let me do this. You can go back. You’ll have S.H.I.E.L.D. again, your lab-”

“It’s _our_ lab, Jemma, no, I can’ do it-”

“-just please, Leo-”

“-I could never do it without you-”

“-please-”

“-I love you.”

“-I love you,” she said in unison. There’s tears from both sides and Fits pulls the knife away so he can embrace her with his free arm. She keeps her grip but holds him, cries into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her ear and the blade disappears from her grasp.

The scream that ripped its way from her throat wasn’t human. He falls back, had flopping backwards and opening the gash like a sickly red smile. Blood rushed out in copious amounts, gushing and spurting over her arms as she grabbed at the front of his shirt. “No, _no, **Leo!**_ ” Her screams reverberated in their van, bouncing off the walls and increasing the noise to a point where she thought her head would burst. A light gurgling of his final breaths bubbled through the liquid mess that was once his neck.  Grasping fingers pull him closer, holding him close to her in his last moments, ignoring the liquid washing over her. Three more choked sobs from her and another gurgle from him and he went limp, his weight resting on her shoulder. She never let him go, only continued to cry his name into a cooling shoulder. Smooth pads on fingers brushed over his, feeling the skin tightening as she tugged at his hand, willing life into them. She was hugging a lifeless body. A broken, choked voice was sobbing his name over and over again into a freshly-red cardigan. She was covered in the stuff as well, and as she cried against him, her fingers slid over the slickness of blood-washed metal.

Intertwining their fingers, she took a deep breath and sat impeccably straight, barrel to her temple.

A shot rang through the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more chapters to come! Please stick with the story, even though that just happened :P There's more to come!!! :D


	13. Chapter 13

That’s how she finds them. Fitz coated in his own red, Simmons laying in the puddle, fingers interwoven with his and a hole in her forehead.

Skye feels the hunger bubbling up inside of her, clawing at her, and she feels the urge to vomit. These are her best friends, her _best friends_ , that’s sick and horrible and-

-And she really wants a bite.

 _No, **no, NO!**_ her brain screams, her old self screams, her last shred of humanity screams. _They’re the only friends you’ve ever had, you can’t, you can’t, you-_

The knife’s in her hand before she even registers moving. Her hands shake, drop the blade and she stares, horrified, as silver splashes in red. _She was about to eat them. She was going to eat her best friends in the world._ Her hands are shaking uncontrollably, breaths catching in her throat as she stares, eyes wide and terror reflected in their depths. Shuddering, she slowly bent and picked up the blade again, staring at the bodies in front of her. Fingers tightened momentarily around the leather grip, squeezing blood between her fingers.

 ** _Best friends in the world_** , she reminds herself as she takes a step forward.


	14. Chapter 14

A threat response team surrounds the van, weapons pointed at the vehicle and in full tactical gear. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo blazes white on black. A harsh voice barks out orders, all of which are ignored by the van’s contents.

And as they force open the doors, Coulson already knows what he’s going to find. The three are coated in a mix of blood; one slit, one shot, one stabbed.

They’re his team.

They never disappoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of the last chapter. It just didn't feel right when it was more wordy. Whew! Hell of a project, and probably my longest fanfiction to date. So what'd you guys think, overall? I'd love to hear your opinions :) Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for sticking with this for so long!


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